<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Aristotle Mendoza, A Free Man by lostintheverse</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198155">Aristotle Mendoza, A Free Man</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostintheverse/pseuds/lostintheverse'>lostintheverse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Happy birthday to my dear friend, M/M, POV Dante Quintana, Retelling, end of the book</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:02:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostintheverse/pseuds/lostintheverse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of pages 351-359 through Dante's point of view.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aristotle Mendoza/Dante Quintana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>181</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Aristotle Mendoza, A Free Man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlejandroAsher/gifts">AlejandroAsher</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, it's the wonderful and amazing <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/yucatanmafia/pseuds/yucatanmafia">yucatanmafia</a>'s birthday. It had been my goal to write him a fic about his own original characters, but I have a new job that is utterly kicking my ass and taking up every second of my time. So instead, I finished this fic I had started a while back so I could give him a birthday gift. It's a mildly lame gift, Alejandro, because I actually idea-bounced with you for this several weeks ago, so some of the ideas are based on things you said lol. But I've been venting to you about my insane life rn so I hope you understand, and I hope you will still enjoy it. It's got a fair amount of angst for such a happy story so it's up your alley 😉 </p><p>I'm so blessed to have you in my life! Te quiero mucho mi amigo.</p><p>Gratitude also to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happierstill/pseuds/Happierstill">Happierstill</a> for reflecting on ideas for this. I really wanted to deep-dive into what Dante was experiencing and it was helpful to talk things out with both <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happierstill/pseuds/Happierstill">Happierstill</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/yucatanmafia/pseuds/yucatanmafia">yucatanmafia</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>DANTE</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be honest, the whole phone conversation with Ari had been weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, I liked it, in a way. I was pissed as hell at first, and I said some things I never thought I’d say to Ari. I even told him he was a piece of crap. That even surprised </span>
  <em>
    <span>me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he didn’t get mad back. And he apologized. He sounded like he meant it, and it made me smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And...what kept sticking out in my mind...he said we could talk about why he was mad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I made a snide remark when he said that, because since when did Aristotle Mendoza talk about his feelings? But when I reflected on it later, I thought him saying that might have been kind of a big deal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wasn’t sure I would have even noticed the significance of it if he hadn’t been acting so weird on the drive to the bowling alley. He was talking about his parents in this way he never had before. He admitted he was crazy about them. What the hell? I mean, it was amazing to hear. But so...out of character. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t just that either. It was...</span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His energy was different. He felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>lighter</span>
  </em>
  <span> somehow. Like out of the blue he wasn’t carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I joked with him and we laughed and even though we had laughed together more times than I could count, it just felt...better. Better than ever before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>I wondered what had changed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As for me, I’d been having the worst five days of my life. Getting the silent treatment from Ari hurt even more than I would have expected, and I would have expected it to hurt a lot. And then Daniel was just a jerk in every way. At the party that Ari refused to come with us to, Daniel went to get us drinks and I found him half an hour later in the bathroom with his hand down some girl’s pants. In the ensuing argument, he said it wasn’t cheating because we weren’t in a relationship. Which I guess was true, but it was still a shitty thing for him to do at a party we went to together. And when I tried to talk to him about it in a mature way, he literally said to me that I was lucky he was even hanging out with me because usually he was with guys and girls who were much cooler than me, and that I was lucky I was so hot because it cancelled out my weirdness just enough to make him interested. And worst of all, he brought up the assault, and said he couldn’t believe I hadn’t run. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That punk best friend of yours thought I’d stay there and get the shit kicked out of me, too? I mean, dude, why did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> stay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stared at him when he said that, speechless. “You told me you were sorry,” I reminded him. Because he had, that day in my room when he came over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am. I’m sorry you got the shit kicked out of you. But I’m not sorry I took off. Self-preservation, man. Look it up.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t believe it. Any of it. I’d never met anyone so stuck-up and full of themselves and shallow and rude. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hadn’t wanted that to be the case. I’d really, really wanted to believe that he’d just been scared and had panicked and that if he could do it over, he wouldn’t have abandoned me. That he would at least have come back to check on me and make sure I was okay. But I realized then that my desire to see good in him had made me hear what I wanted to hear instead of what he’d actually been saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, the whole experience taught me the importance of recognizing when someone makes you feel like shit. And that you should cut that person out of your life. I called Ari that night when I got home to tell him the whole story. He didn’t take my call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I called him the next day because I was dying to talk about it. He didn’t take my call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it hit me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Ari made me feel like shit, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like Daniel. Ari wouldn’t say those things to me in a million years. But the rejection, over and over, even though it wasn’t his fault, had worn me down. It wasn’t his fault that I fell for a guy who didn’t want me in that way, a guy who was apparently not interested in kissing other guys. But it still hurt. It really, really hurt. Every time we hung out was a weird mixture of joy and misery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then the silent treatment...that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> but misery. And it made me think about Chicago, and how many times I wrote to him and how few times he wrote to me. And I just started thinking that maybe I’d been hearing what I wanted to hear with him in a way, too. Seeing what I wanted to see. Maybe I never meant as much to him as he did to me, and his jumping in front of a car to save me really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> an accident, just an impulse because he’s a decent human being, and not actually any indication of his feelings for me. And maybe his beating Julian up was just an excuse to fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kept calling him and he kept not taking my calls, and every time it confirmed what I was trying so hard not to think: that he didn’t really care about me. Or maybe he did, but not with the intensity I had thought. Maybe our whole friendship had never been what I’d thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I decided I needed to swear off boys. I’d just be single and celibate. I told my parents this and they laughed in my face, but I was serious. I was tired of being hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So when he’d called me up and said he’d talk to me about why he’d been mad, and he had apologized, and he had asked me to come with him to meet our parents for bowling...well, first of all, it was so out of character I didn’t know what to think. And on top of the anger and despair that had been building, it just confused the hell out of me. But it had made me smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wanted desperately to revert to my old way of thinking, to settle back into our regular dynamics. And then he felt so free and happy on the way to the bowling alley. So light, like I said. And it felt like old times but it also felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>better,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and suddenly I started thinking I’d been a fool for ever doubting him. For ever doubting our friendship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So I told him that I’d told my parents I never wanted to kiss another boy, because I needed to tell him. He was my best friend and I’d missed him so much, and now that he was here I just wanted to tell him everything. And his response...his laughter...it melted me. And I knew right then that I was never, ever going to get over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I said our parents were weird, and normally he would have just grunted in assent but instead he said, “Because they love us? That’s not so weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of character, but true enough. “It’s how they love us that’s weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was looking right at me. I could feel his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beautiful,” he said softly. And I looked at him, and for a minute I couldn’t speak because the way he was looking at me...I thought he’d been talking about our parents’ love being beautiful, and I guess he had been, but the way he was looking at me made me think he was talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>My head was spinning. My heart was pounding. I knew I wasn’t imagining it. “You’re different,” I finally managed to murmur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” he asked, eyes dancing. He looked like he was waiting for me to notice something obvious. He was glowing, and it was beautiful, and I couldn’t look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. You’re acting different.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just kept looking at me with his sparkling eyes and a smile I’d never seen on him before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weird?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, weird,” I agreed. “But in a good way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held my gaze for a moment, then his eyes dropped to my lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swear to God. He looked at my lips. Then he slowly lifted his eyes back up to meet mine, like he was drinking in every detail of my face, and my breath caught in my throat as he said, “Good. I’ve always wanted to be weird in a good way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he winked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aristotle Mendoza winked at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sank in by degrees: He was</span>
  <em>
    <span> flirting.</span>
  </em>
  <span> With </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ari was flirting with me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sat in the passenger seat for a few moments after he’d climbed out of the truck, my mind reeling. Wondering what the hell had happened and how I’d possibly survive it if he was going to start flirting with me now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My heart couldn’t take it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We kept looking at each other and laughing while we bowled, and my heart nearly exploded every time because the look in his eyes...the way he smiled...it was different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was flirting. And I didn’t know what to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When we left he started driving towards the desert. I wasn’t sure why, or what his plan was, but I did know that I had very little emotional energy left right then. His behavior all evening had confused and enticed me, and I was delighted and also wasn’t sure I was over being mad about the silent treatment he’d given me. Or any of the other ways he’d hurt me. My heart hurt, and it hoped, and every time he caught my eye and smiled his secret smile, I thought I’d die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wanted to be with him because I always wanted to be with him, but I also wanted him to take me home because I wasn’t sure what I was thinking or feeling or what was different about him, or whether I should even stay friends with him after being jerked around so much. I wasn’t sure my heart could handle any more. I mumbled something about it being late, and he cracked a joke and then offered to take me home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And I knew right away that I didn’t actually want to go home. Not until I knew what on earth was happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> was happening. Something </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened. Something was different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he pulled up to our spot and parked and said he loved it there. Then he said he loved the little shoes I’d sent him. Ari wasn’t one to use the word “love” lightly, and his casual use of it then nearly broke me, because what I wanted more than anything in the world was for him to say he loved </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not the desert. Not my stupid Christmas gift. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Me.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice when I said, “You love a lot of things, don’t you?” And he had the audacity to be surprised that I was mad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could I not be mad? How could I not be heartbroken? How could I not be overcome with longing and confusion, especially now that he was being so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>charming</span>
  </em>
  <span> at me? Winking, and looking at my lips, and letting his gaze linger when our eyes met? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had hurt me so much. He hadn’t meant to, but he had. And now he was hurting me even more by being some kind of way that just rubbed salt in the wound of my longing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was clear, then: I knew I had to do it. I couldn’t stay friends with him. I couldn’t take it. Not knowing if he really liked me, not understanding him...and worst of all, being heartsick over a guy who had made it clear he didn’t want me like that. And now that he was being open in a way he’d never been, it only made the knowledge that I’d never really have him hurt more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was going to kill me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do this, Ari,” I said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t do what?” he asked, sounding honestly baffled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This whole friend thing. I can’t do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brow furrowed. “Why not?” he asked, and I nearly screamed in frustration. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He really doesn’t get it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t get it because he doesn’t feel it. Not even close. It’s just been my own delusion all along. I’ve been seeing what I wanted to see.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The roller coaster of my thoughts and emotions from the past few days took a nosedive down the biggest hill yet. All my sorrow and anger bubbled to the surface. “I have to explain it to you?” I hissed. I wanted to die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he said nothing. He just sat there staring at me and I knew I was about to start sobbing. Which he hates. (Except that time he held me while I cried. And that other time he just sat with me and listened.) Fuck. He was so confusing. And I was so exhausted by it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I got out of the truck and slammed the door as hard as I could. And a minute later, he was there, putting his hand on my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the thing: Every time he touched me, whether it was a hug or just a simple, completely accidental brushing against my arm, it made my chest ache. I felt the need for his touch constantly, and whenever I got a tiny taste of it, it was torture. I felt like I was starving and then I’d get a crumb, just a scrap, and it would be amazing for that split second and then the moment it was gone, my hunger would come back threefold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His touch at that moment was just too much. Without even realizing I was going to do it, I pushed him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I expected him to get mad. Yell, or storm away, or...something. He was so mad at me just a couple of days ago; I didn’t know where it all went, but I expected it to resurface when I pushed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just stood there, like he was waiting. I stood there too. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. I needed him to make the next move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally he spoke, saying my name. “Dante?” It sounded like he wanted to tell me something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” I asked, and I was surprised by how angry my voice still sounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ari seemed surprised, too. I got the distinct impression that whatever he’d been about to say was not what he ended up saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he ended up saying was, “Don’t be mad.” The quiet honesty of his plea nearly broke my heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sighed. “I don’t know what to do, Ari,” I said, because it was the truth. Nothing had ever been more the truth. I didn’t know how to handle losing him, and I didn’t know whether ending our friendship was the right thing to do or not, and I didn’t know how to go on being his friend if he was only halfway invested in our friendship, and I didn’t think I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> go on loving him without being loved back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt something shift in him. He stood up a little straighter. He took a deep breath. And I got the sense that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>know what to do, and God, I hoped that was true. If he would just decide for me, say something, do something. Take charge and help me see some kind of light in all the dark confusion. It’s what I needed more than anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he said the last thing I would have expected: He asked me if I remembered that time I kissed him. It was like a knife in my gut. That day was one of the most painful days of my life. I had truly believed back then that he loved me, too. That if I kissed him, he’d kiss me back. That he’d keep kissing me back. That we’d finally be together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking back on it, I felt like I was such a child then. So naive. So stupid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” I muttered past the lump in my throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember I said it didn’t work for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>FUCK. Why was he doing this? It seemed like he was intentionally saying things to cause me pain. How the fuck would I ever forget that? It had shattered me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you bringing this up?” I demanded, letting all the rage and pain and humiliation and dashed hopes pour out of me. “I remember. I remember. Dammit to hell, Ari, did you think I’d forgotten?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ari’s eyes looked...scared. What did he have to be scared of? There’s no way he was scared of me physically, and I wouldn’t let myself believe that he was scared of losing me. I wouldn’t let myself hope that, ever again. It hurt too much when he showed me otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen you this mad,” he whispered, and yet again, the desperation in his voice made my heart break. I went from feeling furious to feeling defeated instantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to talk about that, Ari,” I said sadly. “It just makes me feel bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did I say when you kissed me?” he asked, and I closed my eyes. I had no idea what he was doing, why he was insisting on reliving this horrible memory blow-by-blow. It was devastating, it was destroying my heart, but I had no more energy left to fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said it didn’t work for you,” I answered, my voice breaking just the tiniest bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I lied.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took me a second to register what he’d said. My eyes opened and found his. He was looking at me steadily. He looked terrified and exhilarated and hopeful and...sweet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could he have </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> been flirting with me earlier? I hadn’t made it up?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could he really mean it, after everything?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had he finally realized what I’d believed so truly so long ago? Was </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> what was different about him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t let myself hope. Not again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t play with me, Ari,” I breathed, and in my voice, I could hear everything I felt. The hope, despite my attempt to stifle it. The warning, because if he was playing with me, it would be proof that he didn’t care about my feelings at all, and that would be it for us. The terror that that’s exactly what was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never broke eye contact. He held my gaze and said, in a strong voice, “I’m not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And this time, when he put his hands on my shoulders, stepping closer to me as he did it, I didn’t push him away. My heart was pounding and I let the feel of his hands on me sink in and fill my heart with that old familiar longing and I let it flow through me because...well...because there was no way in hell I was going to push him away right then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not when he was looking at me the way he was looking at me. Not when he’d just said what he’d said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept his hands there. He stayed close to me. His face was just inches away. My heart seemed to quit pounding and instead just stop altogether as he murmured in a quiet voice, “You said I wasn’t scared of anything. That’s not true. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of you, Dante.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All this time. After all this time. After I had finally convinced myself to give up, he was saying it. Saying what I had so desperately wanted to hear for so long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath, like he was mustering every ounce of courage he had. “Try it again. Kiss me,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My stomach fell to the ground. I thought I might pass out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He meant it, I could tell. And I wanted to do it, to kiss him, more than anything. I had wanted to kiss him more than anything for so, so long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was clearly scared to death, and I thought that if I kissed him, he might pull away again. Maybe he was just doing all this because I’d said I couldn’t be friends with him anymore. Maybe our friendship actually did mean the world to him, like I used to think it did, and he was willing to try anything to keep it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe he really did think he wanted me, but if I kissed him, he might realize that he was right all along, that he wasn’t actually into me, that whatever had come over him was just a fluke. An accident. A momentary lapse of judgment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And I was too broken to risk it. I couldn’t take it if either of those possibilities were true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” I whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes flashed wide for a second and I realized he hadn’t been expecting that. He blinked at me and repeated himself, half incredulous and half hurt. “Kiss me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shook my head. “No,” I said again, my stomach twisting up in knots. If he meant it, he had to do more than say it. Couldn’t he understand that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the look on his face: confused, and scared, and shocked, that made me realize something. He was vulnerable right then, and I hadn’t really thought of it before, but that’s what had been lacking all along. I had been the vulnerable one, every step of the way. I had put my heart out there over and over, I had written to him even when he didn’t respond, I had tried so hard to accept him just the way he was no matter how much the way he was hurt me sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was completely imbalanced. I needed him to be vulnerable, too. I had already tried as hard as I could; I needed him to be the one to make the move this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I needed to see if he’d do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And somehow, deep inside, I knew that he would. I felt a smile break over my face, slowly, as the truth of it unfurled. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You</span>
  </em>
  <span> kiss </span>
  <em>
    <span>me,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> I said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watched it sink in, what I had said. I watched him understand the same thing I just had. I watched him glance down at my lips again and I wanted to cry with relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he put his hand on the back of my neck, and he pulled me closer to him, and he did it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kissed me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The instant his lips met mine, I kissed him back. I wanted to, for one thing (God, how I wanted to), but I also wanted to reward him. Reassure him. Let him know that it was safe to be vulnerable with me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he proceeded to blow my fucking mind. Because I had half expected him to just brush his lips against mine, but that’s not remotely what happened. The way he kissed me...it was like he had been wanting it as long as I had. Like his bones had ached for me the way mine had for him. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me flush against him and parted my lips with his and I felt his tongue slide against my teeth and I opened up to him, dizzy with the shock and the validation and the heat of his mouth. I let him hold me up and kiss me and kiss me and kiss me. And I kept kissing him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a fantastic kisser: slow, and sensual, like he was reveling in every tiny movement, every shift we made together. It felt like time had slowed down. His arms were wrapped around me and it was safe and warm and </span>
  <em>
    <span>right.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was so lost in him I didn’t even register he was backing me up until my back hit the truck, and then, suddenly, his kiss shifted from sweet and slow and gentle and became </span>
  <em>
    <span>intense.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He slid his hands up into my hair and pressed his hips into mine and I was pinned there, between the solidness of his body and the solidness of the truck, and I wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him back with as much force as he was kissing me. He never once stopped. He never hesitated. And I felt delirious with happiness, because if this is what I’d been waiting for, it was worth the wait. It was worth all the heartache. He was kissing me with the same confidence that I’d seen the day he took the BB gun out of that boy’s hands. He was kissing me with the same determination I’d witnessed when he lifted weights until his arms shook. He was kissing me with the same ferocity that fueled his anger, the same strength that had carried him through a life of loneliness, the same devotion that had made him jump in front of a car to save me. He gave it all to me: all the pieces of him, all the power inside of him, all the vulnerability it had taken so much courage to show me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the way his kissing was relentless, the way he pressed his tongue into my mouth and moved his jaw to coax my mouth open even more, the way he tugged on my hair and completely overtook my senses...it was the same </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I had felt every time I’d touched myself and thought of him. There was no mistaking it for anything else, and in that moment, all my confusion dissolved. All the doubts and fears and second-guessing of the last several days crumbled into dust, and I melted against him and let him lead. I let him be the one in charge of the moment. And when he pulled away just enough to whisper, “You know I’m in love with you, right?” I put my head back against the truck and looked up at the stars through my tears, and I meant to laugh but it came out as a sob. He put his hand against my cheek and gently guided me to look at him. He didn’t seem to mind that I was crying. He studied my face for a moment and then he shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe any of this was real, and neither could I, and then he kissed the tears from my cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We got in the back of the truck. We sat right up against each other, our thighs pressed together. I reached out and started scratching his back lightly, just because I wanted to. I wanted to be touching him, making him feel good. He sighed and I felt his whole body relax under my fingertips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he started talking. He told me what had happened. He told me what the last five days were like for him. How miserable he’d been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He told me about his parents sitting him down and giving him a beer--which he thought was weird, but I immediately took as a gesture to show him they weren’t talking down to him, but reasoning with him like an adult--and that they told him they knew he was in love with me. He told me about how he had never let himself think the words before that moment, and how as soon as he admitted it to himself, it was like a flood of emotion that he had dammed up and turned a blind eye to came raging through him. And he told me he was mad about Daniel because he’d been insanely jealous, but he hadn’t let himself think about that, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It kind of makes me crazy to think about you kissing anyone but me,” he said, and I thought I would die of happiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It kind of makes me crazy to think about kissing anyone but you, too,” I said, and we laughed together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The North Star seemed brighter than ever before. All the stars did, really. The whole night felt magical. I spotted a shooting star and, without even thinking, wished it would start raining. That would be even more perfect somehow. That time when we had run around in the rain had been almost ethereal, and anyway, the rain had always reminded me of Ari. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wished it was raining,” I said to him. He nudged his head against mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need the rain,” he said softly. “I need you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butterflies filled me up again. There was that vulnerability to match my own. I couldn’t believe how easily it came out of his mouth, as if it was a truth waiting just beneath the surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wanted to say he had me, but I got a different idea. I stopped moving my fingertips from side to side on his back and instead started tracing my name. I did it a couple of times and then he looked over at me with the most adorable, incredulous smirk. I bit my bottom lip and watched him melt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, without a word, he reached his arm behind me and traced his name on my back, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like a promise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually we lay down side by side like we had done a million times, but this time was different because my heart was bursting with joy. We talked quietly about whatever random thoughts popped in our heads. We laughed. We watched the moon travel across the sky. And then, after a while, we were just quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he took my hand. He laced his fingers through mine as we lay there, staring up at the sky, and I didn’t think I’d ever stop smiling again. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>